Shinra, Inc Forever
by Reno a la Turk
Summary: Turks don't grow on trees. They stumble out of bar fights. Reno, and how he fights into the Shinra ranks. [rating for language and violence]
1. Breadline

Breadline

            The sun had risen like on every morning at about 6 in the morning.  It slowly crept over the ocean, silhouetting the purple mountains in the Nibel area against the red of the sky.  The mist slowly lifted over the swamplands and the Zolom began to stir under the murky water.  The port in Junon saw its ships out and everyone in the Icicle area began to stoke their stoves and reheat their awakening houses.  The sun would slowly rise over everything and touch everyone's faces at some point.

            All those who didn't live in Midgar.  Most hadn't seen the sun since the plate construction had finished nearly 20 years ago.  The only ones who saw it this morning were the ones waking up in the barracks in the headquarters of Shinra, Inc.  The sun slowly filtered into the windows of the topmost offices; maroon and ruined through the veil of smog.  It was still warm though and stirred the sleepers who decided to ignore their morning duties.

            One in particular wasn't used to this sort of thing.  He hadn't had a stable job in as far back as he could remember and even those that he did have didn't call for him to wake up this early.  He mumbled something into his pillow about turning off the sun and rolled over, letting this sickly rays that seeped through the blinds warm his back instead.  His radio turned on softly from across the room, a song that once rang so true to him lilting softly over its twin guitar riffs.__

            Reno slowly rolled onto his back, sighing loudly at the ceiling.  His aquamarine eyes slowly peeled open and he tried to clear the thick haze that covered them with the back of his hand.  He groaned and sat up.  The joints in his neck popped like bubble wrap and he yawned softly.

            His legs slid over the side of the bed and he stood up, his ankles popping in similar fashion to his neck.  He yawned again, rubbing the back of his head.  Upon examination, Reno found that the gel he'd slopped into his hair the previous day had, with combination of the tossing around during the night, created strange gnarls and twists strangely akin to that of fire.  The fact that it was almost painfully red probably furthered that idea.  The longer portions had stayed relatively tidy though as he had taken the time to braid them before bedding.

            He hadn't slept that well in a long time.  The fact that he had actually found a job that wanted him seemed farfetched but the simple matter of room and board had been taken care of as well was just almost too good to believe.  The Shinra had taken him in and given him his very own room.  It was small but he didn't need that much room anyhow.  They'd given him a neat blue suit (though he really didn't care for the suit and tie bit) and he even had a bathroom adjoined to his mini-apartment.  He probably wouldn't end up wearing the suit, maybe just the shirt and pants.  If they wanted him to wear the tie, he would put it around his forehead in defiance.  If he was that damned important to be taken in and thrown into such a high rank on the first day they would just have to deal with it.

            He hadn't questioned why they wanted him.  That was pretty obvious.  He was street smart and knew Midgar like the back of his hand.  He'd lived on the sidewalks since he was young and could win a fight against any given opponent.  You had to when you were no higher than the rats.  It wasn't that hard once you knew how to hit them in the right spots.  He had infinite knowledge about that.  He wasn't strong by any measure but he was quick.  And arrogant.

            Reno didn't really seem to understand the concept of being late for work and took his time making it towards the bathroom.  He nearly fell asleep again while waiting for the water to warm.  The whole getting up early thing wasn't working for him.  He just stood beneath the water for a few long minutes, staring into the facet and letting his wild red hair fall back into jagged chunks on his scalp.  He could feel the gel slowly melting from his spiky locks and run down his back.  He shivered a little and rubbed his hair erratically until it felt clean.  It didn't make any sense to be that thorough; there would be gel in it again before he walked out of the bathroom.  He did it anyway.

            There was a soft knocking at the door of his mini-apartment.  Reno ignored it to start with, passing it off as the radio on his alarm clock.  It sounded again though, a little louder then before.  He tried to yell at it but his voice gurgled thickly in his throat.  He swished some of the hot water in his mouth and gargled it a moment or two before trying again.

            "What the hell do you want?" he called, grabbing the green deodorizing soap from the shelf.  It, like every other random object, bore the diamond shaped logo of Shinra, Inc.  It foamed quickly and smelled fresh.  What quality.

            The voice took a few moments to respond.  It was deep and quiet, the same voice that had approached him on the street the day before.  According to everyone else, it took forever to get it to speak but it seemed to speak freely around Reno.  "Reno..." the voice called softly.  "I suggest you get to Heidegger's office soon.  If he sends Tseng to find you, you will be out of luck."

            The redhead sighed irritatedly.  "Thank you, mother," he muttered sarcastically.  The voice at the door had obviously heard his less than quiet comment and responded with the tone that usually meant there was a small half-smile attached.  "You're welcome, dear."

            Reno stepped out of the shower, wringing out the longer parts of his hair.  The water beaded off his skin and fell to the floor.  Small puddles looked up at him from their short lives and glowed softly in the halflight.  He grabbed a fluffy red towel and wrapped it around his waist.  It too bore the logo that was Shinra.

            Upon opening the door, the ruddy haired man crossed his arms.  The bald owner of the quiet voice was still standing just outside, his back to the wall.  He turned his head a little at the sound and his face bore the same blank expression as usual.  Reno leaned against the doorjamb, scowling slightly.  "So, the old Cossack wants me to be on time, huh?" he inquired in a mockingly sweet tone.  The bald man turned his head back to realign with his body.  The only response was a minute nod.  "What's he gonna do, fire me?" Reno continued, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face.  The cueball shook his head a little with a soft sigh.

           "Reno, if I had known you were going to be this much trouble, I would've left you outside.  You should be happy to be a Turks.  It's a serious business and I hope you realize that."  Reno laughed softly, reaching up to rub the bare skin on the man's head.  He frowned slightly, turning to the redhead.

            "Don't worry about it, Rude.  I'll be out in a second.  I just ain't used to waking up this early."

            "Ain't isn't a word."

            "Then why the hell is it in the dictionary?"

            The bald man sighed, stepping away from the door.  "Be there in no less then five minutes.  Any more and you're likely to be out on the streets again."  With that said, he walked down the corridor and disappeared into the elevator.  Reno slid back into his mini-apartment and took the navy pants from their plastic hanger on the back of the bathroom door.  He slid into them and shook his head wildly.  He pulled the longer portion back into a ponytail and snatched the bottle of gel.  The crimson points of hair returned from their uniformity and stood up at their own accord, seemingly uninterested in being the same.

            He pulled the pressed dress shirt from the hanger and slipped it on.  He didn't bother to tuck it in or even button it until halfway down his chest.  As an afterthought, he grabbed the black tie and looped it around his forehead.  With a satisfied nod and a lopsided grin, Reno walked out of the bathroom.

            He lingered a while around the radio before shutting it off.  Just before leaving his new room, he grabbed the jacket from the hanger and threw it over his shoulder.  It was time to go see his new boss Heidegger, the new age Cossack.


	2. Reckoning Day

            Heidegger's office, like most offices of higher Shinra personnel, has furnished simply.  He had a fairly large desk and one of those chairs on rolling wheels.  He had a few windows along the back and a few sullen drapes covered them.  Upon entering, Reno could tell that his new boss was not in the best of moods.  The other three of the blue suited Shinra workers were standing around the desk.  Rude had taken his place beside a slightly shorter man with a slight air of the Orient.  This, by all guesses, was Tseng.  On the other side of the desk was a grave looking twenty-something with shoulder length black hair.  It fell in soft waves around his face and seemed a little heavier on the left.  He seemed to be the oldest, save Heidegger himself, and therefore would probably be Vincent.

            "This is what you were so eager to accept?" Heidegger questioned skeptically.  His beady eyes slowly panned to his left to pin upon the dark skinned Turk.  Rude turned a little, his eyes hidden behind his olive coloured sunglasses.  He nodded a little, turning back to look at Reno.  "What is he?  It is a he, right?" the bearded man continued, also reverting to look at the redhead.

            "Damn right I am.  What, need proof?" Reno demanded.  All of the Turks seemed in shock at this with the exception of Rude.  He'd already been adequately exposed to the scarlet haired man's uncanny wit and humour and was fairly unfazed.

            Heidegger took a moment to collect himself and stood.  He was undoubtedly shorter than all of his employees and any one of them could've fit into one of his extra-large pant legs.  He was, to say the least, sturdy.  Reno found himself comparing him to not only a Cossack but then also to one of those blow up dolls that you can punch into eternity and not have them stay fallen over.

            "What are you worth to the Shinra Manufacturing Department in Administrative Research?" he grunted, walking around his desk and the blue suited men beside it.  He had a peculiar strut that made his rounded gut stick out in a humourous manner.  Reno couldn't help but laugh.  Heidegger grunted irritatedly.  "What's so funny?" he demanded.

            The newest of the Turks stifled his laughter.  "What?  What would make me a good Turks?  Is that what you're askin'?" he cooed, tilting his head to the side until it cracked.  Heidegger grunted again with a sharp little nod.  Reno shifted his weight and looked at the ceiling.  "Well, I dunno.  Ask the bald guy," he replied after a moment's thought.

            The bearded department head turned back towards his desk.  Rude cleared his throat, waiting to be called upon.  "Well?" Heidegger growled.  The shaded Turk nodded slightly.

            "I saw him while I was off-duty last night.  He was in a bar, pretending to be old enough to legally drink.  That, in itself, proved that he could handle any sort of espionage assignment.  I watched him as he left when he got into a fight with the bouncers.  He skillfully took them down on his own while only using what was available.  I admit that I wouldn't have prevailed any more easily than he did.  In short, good for assignment work."

            Heidegger blinked unconvincedly.  "You're saying that this little punk took out a few bouncers?  That's all?  You judged him worthy of the Turks for a brawl at some local tavern?" he rumbled, his voice steadily growing in volume.  "That scrawny little so-and-so!?"

            Reno had about all he could take.  "Hey, you don't think I'm that good?  Take me on yourself then!  See just how fast I plant your ass!" he snapped, tossing the navy coloured jacket to the ground.  He tossed his head, the wild strands of red hair gracing his face momentarily leaving his accusing aquamarine eyes unobstructed.  "Come on then, you fat Cossack."

            There was a part of the Shinra Building that few knew about.  Most of the regular employees had no clue that some branches of the company existed though they weren't even hidden in the least.  The fact that there was an entire basement floor that they had never seen or heard of before wasn't a surprise at all.  It was used for training.  Not just any training, but instead the training for Shinra's crossbreed of Mafia hitmen and Secret Service.  This was the birthplace of the Turks.

            It was a wide open space with moveable walls marking it every few feet.  They were set up like a hallway with doors every few feet, all looking just sturdy enough to keep out a draft.  There was a constant hum of machinery and across the corners of the room, tubes of glow green goo hung in the shadows.  It seemed that some of the Mako from the reactors traveled through here on its way to whatever destination within the city limits it needed to go.  The redhead mused to himself how simple the destruction of the city would be if a few of these tubes were taken care of.

            The Cossack, as Reno had dubbed him, was waddling self-importantly before him, the other Turks following behind.  He could hear the conversation between Tseng and Rude, if Rude could carry a conversation, and Tseng was obviously not happy.  He assumed it were Tseng, as Vincent appeared as quiet as Rude, if not more so at times.  Plus, the man with the short sable-coloured hair was  walking more beside him than behind and he wasn't visually speaking to any length.

            Heidegger stopped abruptly, grunting to a couple of Shinra guards that blocked his path.  They were guarding a door of some sort, something that sectioned off part of the room.  It took a threatening bout of arm waving to send them away and then the Turks were alone with their boss.

            "You get twenty minutes in here, punk." he grunted, blinking his beady eyes from below furrowed furry brows.  His stumpy arm pointed at the door.  "Be resourceful or whatever you want to be.  If you live, we'll move on to other things.  If you don't, good riddance."

            Any retaliation to being shoved inside was cut off with the air-lock.  Reno growled to himself, shoving up one of the sleeves of his wrinkled shirt.  He surveyed the room briefly, trying to get a feel of it.

            "Asshole..." he muttered, turning and kicking the door a sharp kick.  He stalked along the edge of the room, looking about on the ground.  The area seemed to be set up like most of Sector 8, full of ladders and platforms and, of course, piles of scrap metal.  One of the platforms above him groaned as if refusing to bear any weight.  The redhead jerked his vision upwards, following a faint movement above.  "Show me what ya got..." he dared, a smirk glancing his lips as he swooped upon a two foot pipe.  "...if ya got anythin' worth it."


	3. Symphony of Destruction

            The Shinra had a unique way of going about things.  In the brief time they had been growing, they had acquired a very interesting variety of tastes.  In weaponry, they were advanced, highly technological; in warriors they were moderately archaic, but in machinery, they were superior.  When the three were combined, it was good to be sided with them.

            Backed against the wall, Reno caught sight of the contraption as soon as it sank to the ground.  It was rather cumbersome, looming with big turrets and flanked by guards.  Shinra guards obviously came in flavours and these were the sleek and sassy sort.  These were the sleek guards dressed in skin-tight body suits, crowned by visor-helmets and gloved with rather threatening looking claws.

            The guns fired first from the machine, clip after clip emptying right at the red-haired boy.  Reno dove out of the way, taking refuge in an overturned train car.  He glanced around a moment or two, looking for something to be used as a shield.  His searching was interrupted as a sudden jolt rocked the car.  He cursed, thrown back onto one of the unhinged seats, staring up through the window.  Snatching up an overturned snack tray, he dislodged the top from the bottom and leapt up to see what was still berating his hideout.

            The hail of bullets resumed as soon as he was above the car, denting and ricocheting off the makeshift shield he'd collected.  The car jolted again beneath him and he growled, crouching against the sways.  The claw mechanisms on the guards were pulse cannons, little engines that produced almost invisible shots of pure energy.  One of the guards was sending pulse after pulse into the car, obviously trying to flush him out.  But the other...

            Reno spun at the shift of the car, the slick soles of his business shoes sliding on the outer shell.  He caught a glimpse of the guard below him on the other side, running forward now that he was surrounded.  The missing one was below him on the ground, pulse cannon pointed directly at him.

            Acting instinctively, the redhead threw the makeshift shield at the guard below him, hitting the raised arm and causing the pulse to discharge into the air above him.  By the time he was ready to fire again, Reno was on the ground, turning swiftly and lashing out with his pipe-weapon.  The lead connected solidly with the other pulse cannon, shattering the delicate working mechanisms and dissipating the force gathered.  The guard lunged forward with the remaining claw, stabbing at him with the sharp edges.  Reno ducked, the pipe striking again and catching the guard just above his hip.

            It was then that the other guard resurfaced, the hum of the pulse cannon sounding just before it rippled across the redhead's path.  Reno side-stepped clumsily, just staying out of the cannon's blast.  He turned instantly, pulling up his pipe and crashing it down upon the guard's helmet.  The guard lashed back at him blindly, the visor cracked and useless in locating him now.  The former guard launched a pulse from his remaining cannon, mere feet away now.  The red haired boy jumped, his hand clawing along the car for a hand-hold.  The pulse ran smoothly, rippling through the air until smashing into the blind guard, rendering him completely useless.  Catching a small gap in a shattered window, Reno hung, his lanky form curled against the rusty car.  He smiled to himself, sighing and looking at the last guard.  The blue-suited soldier was in a mild state of shocking, moving quickly to reload his pulse cannon.  Too late.

            Reno sprang from the car, leaping down and landing a slick-soled shoe on the guard's helmet.  He brought the pipe down on the last pulse cannon, shattering it and releasing the small amount of gathered energy.  After stepping off the second shattered helmet, he decided that he'd done rather well.

            It was almost too late when he realized the gun-toting machine was still waiting for him.  He barely ducked back in time to miss the hail of fire.  The redhead cursed, stumbling backwards and tripping over the prone form of the first downed guard.  He yelped, his new pants collecting dirt and grease from the wonderful imitation Sector 8 flooring.  He smacked the guard again in fury, bringing the pipe upon his midsection.  The force of the blow jolted the guard's belt enough to loosen something attached there.  Something terribly useful.

            Picking up the item, Reno smiled almost sadistically.  Shinra guards always had these crappy bombs, right?  He scrambled over the second pair of legs and pulled out another of the grenades, fairly giggling in childish glee.  He pulled the pin on the first, jamming his thumb into it to keep it from exploding prematurely.  Taking the frail metal, he twisted it, bending it until it looped through the second pin and around the small neck where it had previously been.  One may not take down the machine but two should, he mused.

            Taking up his bullet-battered shield, the Turks-to-be rolled out into view again, taking momentary aim and tossing the bombs.  To his dismay, the machine caught sight of them approaching and set one of its guns to shoot them down.  They exploded at least five feet away, succeeding in only damaging the guns.  The machine whirred disgruntledly and lumbered forward, ready to take care of him with just the crush of its giant treds.

            "Can't make this shit easy, can ya!" Reno yelled, throwing back his head in pure anger, kicking one of the unconscious guards as he retreated.  He growled, the roar of the treds coming ever closer.  He looked down at the guards momentarily and shrugged before taking off at a sprint.  "Better you th'n me..."

            The machine was steadily picking up speed as it roared across the ground, popping the guards like jelly doughnuts and releasing a similar filling as it went.  Reno glanced over his shoulder, cursing again as he realized the minute space left between himself and the bloodthirsty treds.  It wouldn't be more than fifteen more seconds, tops, before he was another smear on the fake soil.  Taking one last deep breath, he jumped at a nearby ladder, reaching desperately for the rungs.

            His fingers slipped off the third from bottom, slick with sweat and exertion and for a brief moment he felt nothing but pure panic.  The leather of his fingerless glove caught the bottommost rung as he fell, jolting his arm painfully as it held fast.  Biting back the pain, he pulled his feet up, reaching his other hand plate-ward.  The machine roared just beneath him, part of the jagged top catching his navy slacks and tugging at him insistently.  The ladder shrieked as it was pulled, half falling from its crudely soldered place.  Reno growled, twisting as much as he could and then lashing his feet out in the opposite direction, feeling the fabric shredding against the pulling forces.  With that, the machine lumbered onward, circling the perimetre of the area and waiting for him to fall.  But it had only taken him ten seconds to get to the platform above the ladder and there he stayed, muttering insults about the Cossack and his mother's combat boots.


	4. Ashes in your Mouth

  
Before much longer, the noises from above got up again. With a growl, Reno strained upwards, looking into the face of more guards. The pulse cannons hummed softly in anticipation, the bottoms glowing faintly. The Turks-to-be slunk back against the wall, looking down. The machine still roved the ground below him. Below one of the tred marks was his pipe.  
'SHIT.' he cursed mentally, looking at the guards as they slid down pipe and jumped from the platforms. Weaponless.  
  
  
"He's good..."  
The lead Turks shrugged, offering no explanation to his statement. His second in command snorted softly, turning away from the monitors to look directly at Vincent.  
"But his attitude is trying. Yes, he's good. Yes, he's resourceful. The point isn't that. He is not right for our company. He's not business-oriented, he's just a little punk that knows street-smarts."  
"Maybe that's what we need." the short-haired Turks retorted, his eyes narrowing slightly at Tseng. "We're branching out, you know. We're supposed to be working a lot more for the Shinra company. It's growing up and we need to follow it."  
"What do you mean by that? I haven't heard about any of this."  
Vincent laughed slightly, shaking his head. "The President is invoking new policies on us. We're branching out from bodyguarding and errand running. We're not just research anymore, we're going to be the active part of Shinra, Inc. The company's getting bigger and we all know what happens then..."  
"There's more dirty laundry to take care of." Tseng finished, looking slightly distant, as if greatly impacted by this realization.  
"Exactly." Vincent continued, pocketing his hands and turning back to the monitors. "We're leading into some pretty scary experiments. Infusing Mako with Shinra grunts, seeing what it does. The fingers of this company are stopping here on this very ground. Weapons, militia, you name it. The Space Program may be dropped entirely after the YA-26 makes its run. Depends on what we find, I guess..."  
The long haired man frowned, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side. "So, our jobs are going to be more secretive. We're going to be keeping things quiet and running illegal operations right under the public's nose? Is that what all this is about?"  
"Largely."  
"Then keep him. Keep the little punk and let him do the dirty work. I won't."  
Vincent turned, sighing slightly. "And what, may I ask, did you expect when you joined up with Shinra, Inc.? Every company that grows up through its own work to quickly encompass half the planet is going to have some serious things to hide and dangerous people thrown up against it."  
"I know that!" the grey-eyed Turks growled, his fingers wrapping into fists at his sides. "But this is just too much! I saw what was happening when Wutai refused to let Shinra put in a reactor and that--"  
"Was just the beginning." his companion cut in, staring at him. "There's more trouble with Wutai then you've known since you came to Midgar. That's why the experiments with infusing Mako are beginning. We need an edge or they'll slaughter us and derail the entire company if we don't get it.  
"We have other projects lined up but they're all pending. The Wutai conflict is what's on the President's mind right now. He shipped his son off to the Junon Academy yesterday because he didn't have the time to use with him. Either you're in or not, Tseng. This is what being a Turks is going to end up being." Vincent gestured towards the monitors and the redhead upon them tossing yet another Shinra grunt into the path of the machine below. Tseng watched the monitor, letting his breath out slowly in resignation.  
"This is what the Turks are going to be. We're gonna end up having to be just like him, ready to jump out into the fray and kill anyone we are told. We're going to be involved in some dirty things but if it'll be for the better of the population, we'll do it. If you can't do this, don't bother. Go ahead and say good-bye to your innocence. Age isn't an issue anymore and just because you're young doesn't mean you won't be expected to do it all."  
"Don't worry..." Tseng muttered, turning away from Vincent. "I'll do what I'm required. My vote's on that... Reno. If he's in, let him be the main activist or something. Let him move into my job, if that's what it takes. Let me take care of the business work and him take care of the field work." He excused himself, nodding slightly to Rude as he left. As he disappeared, the sable-haired man sighed.  
"When are you telling him." Vincent shook his head, knowing he couldn't escape the not-question. He sat down before the monitors again, looking over his shoulder at the bald man.  
"Gast finally got the go on the JENOVA Project yesterday, so it'll be within the week that we leave. I won't have to give Reno his job, he'll just be taking care of my responsibilities while I watch the Project and clean up their mess should something go wrong or they be found out."  
"When."  
"...as soon as we make sure Reno doesn't get himself killed."  
  



	5. Sweating Bullets

  
The guards were coming down in fury now, all ready to take a chunk out of the little kid that had somehow gotten rid of all their predecessors. They all fell short of their goal, some even falling off the platforms themselves. One had jumped down to his platform and broken his leg right there. And thus, Reno was armed once again.  
It only took two shots before he had the feel of the pulse cannon and he began his ascension. Sweat had broken on his brows but he wasn't ready to quit. Not now. After all, he still had to strangle that fat Cossack and give Rude a good sharp kick to the nuts.  
Pulses whirred past him, rocking the ladder in their path. He growled, still climbing upwards. It felt like some sort of video game they'd have in an arcade, 'Make it to the top before you get knocked to the ground!' Somehow he figured that a Game Over was not in question.  
Upon reaching the platform, he spun, facing the annoying grunt that had been shooting at him the entire time. Three shots later, the guard crumpled, taking the brunt of the pulse to his midsection. He laid motionless on the platform and two more guards appeared to take his place almost instantly.  
Reno sunk back behind a piece of scrap, his sweat-streaked hair hanging around his face. He shook his head to dispose of the nuisance but the lasting effect was only seconds long. If this was what he'd be going through every time he got up in the morning, they could kiss his ass. He was getting pissed.  
Throwing back his head, the red-haired boy began screaming.  
"YOU SAID TWENTY MINUTES YOU FAT ASSHOLE!" he sunk the claws of the pulse cannon into the wall beside him. "YOU SAID TWENTY MINUTES AND I'D BE OUT OF HERE!"  
He quieted, listening for anything that could be the way out. The Shinra grunts had begun to congregate on the opposite platform, some still climbing lower. He cursed, turning upon the wall he'd stabbed and kicked it violently. His polished shoes tore as the metal slashed across them and he cursed loudly as tiny droplets of blood rimmed the torn edge of his sock. He retracted his feet, pulling the injured close.  
It took him a few minutes before he looked back up at the wall and the hole he'd caused. There was space behind it. The walls weren't five inch steel plates, they were almost paper thin. Just enough to take a few errant pulses.  
A smirk slowly spread across his lips and Reno crawled forward to inspect the hole. About two feet of space and then another wall. Upon sticking his head in, the glowing green of the Mako-lit ceiling greeted him, only a couple dozen feet above him. Aiming the pulse cannon at the hole, he widened it, making the gap big enough to comfortably squeeze through.  
IT was then that the platform beneath him rocked unsteadily, jolting him up and almost skewering him upon the twisted metal he'd forged. Looking through the grating, the blue-clad grunts had collected below him, their pulse cannons pointed at the platform. It swayed unsteadily again, one of the connecting plates keeping it up loosening completely.  
Time spent, Reno leapt through the hole, not taking the moment to wince at the ripping of his shirt. He jabbed the pulse cannon forward, sinking the claws into the wall. They screeched and slid downwards, almost unsinking from the wall itself. Panicked, the redhead shot his legs out, pinning his knees into the opposite wall and his back into the one he'd just broken through. Forced into a fetal curl, his fall finally stopped, settling between the two walls tightly.  
Sighing softly, the Turks-to-be wiped his brow with his free hand. He set to dislodging his claw from the metal, rending it nastily before it was freed. Screw this, he decided, I'm not gonna get to the top. I'm getting out of here.  
The pulse threw his head back into the metal and he cursed. The hole was rather wicked, but small. He hadn't treated it to a foot-battering as he had the other and the force had knocked him for a loop. Through the hole, he could hear screeching of metal, the groan of pulleys and cables.  
Two more pulses and the hole was big enough to see through. Readying the last pulse, Reno jabbed his arm forward in emphasis, fingers squeezing the triggers.  
  
The elevator jolted to a stop, falling a foot and a half before locking the cables. Having fallen backwards in the sudden halt, Tseng made his way back to his feet, utterly bewildered at what had happened.  
"BITCH!"  
The elevator jolted violently again and the source of the problem became apparent. Following the curse, one could see a set of bent metal claws locked solidly into the thick shell of the car, pulse beats evident around them.  
"What the..." Tseng trailed off, ducking aside as the bubbled metal broke through. The pulse arm slid forward through the hole, twisting back to rip the metal back through. No more than five seconds later, the familiar scruff of fiery hair poked through the hole, followed by the rest of the waif's body. Less than thirty seconds passed before the youth was curled up against the hole, smiling exhaustedly.  
"You Shinra are some sick shits..." Reno mumbled, licking his lips a little. Tseng pulled his cellphone from his pocket, eyes still locked on the blood-and-sweat soaked boy as he flipped it open.  
"Yes, the elevator is stuck... and I think that kid passed the test..."  
  



End file.
